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Carl Rankin. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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MY WICKED WITCH
MY WICKED WITCH!
Over the howling wind on a brisk October night, when a sickly yellow moon shimmers high in the autumn sky, you can hear her moan in twisted delight as she casts her evil spells and prepares to fly. Upon her trusted steed made of wood and straw, she grips ever so tightly with her gruesome claw. You can see her blackened grin from cheek to cheek; resemble tiny knives rather than teeth. Her eyes burn red filled with loathing and hate. But don’t you dare look at her and tempt your fate. She can look deep within your sole and find your fears. She’ll make you scream till you run out of tears. And when you think the worst has come to pass. She’ll drain your youth and turn you to glass. High on an oak shelf you’ll go… still alive. Still able to whatch her next show